Six Weeks With a Lord

by Eve Pendle

  “My three stipulations are: One, you must disclose all your debts to me.” Grace watched his face for signs of discomfort in his strong jawline and the unwavering scrutiny of his gray eyes.

  He paused before answering. “I have a mortgage on part of the estate, and some small loans to cover current outgoings.”

  Something about his emphasis was odd, but she couldn’t find anything wrong in the words of his reply. “You will produce all your debt notaries?”

  “Yes,” he said without hesitation.

  Very well. “Two, you must not be a gambler.”

  He gave her a bleak smile and shook his head. “I’m not a gambler.”

  “The cattle plague is responsible for all your debts?” Undisclosed debts were a risky financial burden, as was a gambler. She wanted to be free, and that did not include being called upon to bail out her husband.

  Little creases of discomfort appeared around his eyes. But they were gone before she could analyze what they meant.

  “You have no objection to Maurice requesting all records of your betting at your club?”

  “You’re welcome to check, but I don’t bet.” The corner of his mouth pulled into a vexed smile. “Rinderpest doesn’t make for good odds for any pastoral farmer, or land owner, in the country.”

  Beside her, Maurice winced and nodded. Grace shifted with unease. She had forgotten to ask about the cattle plague and been too preoccupied with other worries to read the news.

  “Where is Peter?” Caroline interrupted, putting down Burke’s. “He has an elder brother.” She raised one blond eyebrow.

  “He is in the family cemetery. Died in a carriage accident.” Lord Westbury said the words like they were little stones in his mouth.

  Grace felt a rush of empathy, perhaps, or kinship. His brother and father were both gone, too. Maybe he didn’t have anyone now that his brother had died.

  “Have you any proof?” Caroline inquired, pulling Grace away from her unwanted sympathy.

  His eyes narrowed. “I have been in town a fortnight. Many of my acquaintances can vouch for me. The Morrisons, for instance.”

  Was that adequate evidence?

  “Perhaps you would like to see the death certificate for yourself?” Lord Westbury leaned back into his seat. “Or do you want to have his body exhumed and shown to you?”

  “That won’t be necessary, thank you.” His acerbic comment made her twinge with discomfort that they were so transparent. He seemed to be telling the truth. His gaze was open and candid, if a little confrontational. But then, these were odd circumstances. They might be sharing the dowry, but any man whom she married would technically own her and needed to be someone she trusted. In as much as a lord could be relied on to adhere to her rules.

  “Lastly, you must not exert any marital claim over me, for as long as we both live.” This was the test. It sounded cold, repeating it to him. A platonic marriage of convenience must require an avowal from her husband that he would not attempt to force attentions upon her.

  Lord Westbury contemplated Grace for a long moment, then nodded. “I can adhere to your rules.”

  “And you will sign a declaration?” Such a document was far beyond what Lord Rayner would ever have done for her.

  “Of course. But I also have some conditions of my own.”

  Grace had already opened her mouth to issue an absolute denial to any stipulation he might have, but hesitated and closed it again. None of the men who she or the Fishers had found had been good options. Several had been condemned by a shake of Caroline’s head when she looked up from reading Burke’s. One of the barons had stunk of alcohol, which did not bode well for his state of mind when swearing to anything. The other had become defensive when she had inquired further about his innocently stated liking for the game of roulette.

  Lord Westbury might not be her choice for a husband, since self-important lords weren’t. But then, all that mattered was that her husband was not going to cause her trouble. Perhaps him setting his own rules showed a commendable gravity.

  She licked her lips. “I will hear your conditions. But I may choose not to accept them.”

  “First, I require you to live with me for six months.”

  “…completely incompatible with Grace’s third requirement.” The beginning of Maurice’s declaration wasn’t audible under Caroline’s vehement rejection.

  “Why should you want that?” Something like terror raced through her.

  “And you must pretend to be in love with me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” He was insane. She would never show love, real or pretend, for any man again.

  Lord Westbury held up his hands, as though to block her protest. “It is a vital matter of pride.”

  Grace raised her eyebrows.

  “Not for me, but for my family. And the loyal people who work for my family. We need some good news at Larksview. The mercenary act of marrying purely for financial gain would hardly bring the optimism necessary at this time. My parents and grandparents married for love, as did my brother. You could almost say it is a Hetherington tradition. I must maintain that illusion and to do so I need your cooperation. Half a year should be long enough, then we can pretend to quarrel and you can leave.”

  Dread bubbled inside her. Another six months without her brother. “It would delay my going abroad.”

  “Only delay, though.” Lord Westbury tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “You would be free to go after half a year.”

  Grace smoothed the fabric of her skirt. She had to get Henry away from Lord Rayner before his influence tainted him. That was the only thing that mattered. “One month.”

  Lord Westbury lifted his chin and a line creased on his brow. “Five.”

  “It does not require five months to discover a marriage one thought was a good idea is a disaster. Two weeks is quite sufficient.”

  “The people around me are not fools. Three months.”

  Grace inhaled and considered. This was like negotiating with a trader who wanted to sell his cargo. If it were Lord Rayner, he would have all the knowledge. He had Alnott Stores, custody of her little brother, and didn’t especially need her money. Most of all, he had her fear of him and what he might do to her and those she loved. By comparison, in this negotiation with Lord Westbury, he didn’t know how valuable his cargo was. He wanted the money she offered, and importantly, he had little comprehension of the power he held over her and how essential this marriage was. He had all the power, but he couldn’t see it.

  “Six weeks or nothing.” Grace kept her gaze level.

  There was a long silence. Eventually, he nodded slowly, looking reluctant.

  “Grace, I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Caroline burst out. “How is it compatible with a platonic marriage, in name only?”

  Grace turned to Maurice to see what he thought. But he was watching Lord Westbury in silence, his profile set with intent. He got out of his chair and walked over to Lord Westbury to look down at him. “How can we trust you won’t take liberties once you have her away from her friends?”

  Lord Westbury didn’t shrink away. “I do not particularly care for ‘taking’ the sort of liberties you allude to.”

  A meaningful look passed between the two men. Apparently satisfied, Maurice drew back and returned to his seat with a neutral look on his face.

  Lord Westbury turned back to Grace. “Your friend Mr. Fisher is correct, though, proximity can result in closeness developing.”

  He meant lovemaking, and Grace’s mind was suddenly full of words she had fleetingly heard, knew were forbidden, but didn’t fully understand. Words that made her face heat.

  “Which brings me on to my third condition. I will absolutely adhere to your condition that I will not force anything in any way, but were anything to happen, with mutual consent, you must return to give birth to the child. And the child must stay with me, be it a girl or a boy. I would not allow my heir to grow up without a father.”

  A tens
e hush followed his pronouncement. Grace didn’t look at her friends; she knew they would be worried. She felt the pink in her cheeks recede.

  “If you swear not to coerce me, there will be no issue.” Her voice was steady, even as her heart skipped when his gaze rested back onto her. She hoped there would be nothing.

  “As you say,” Lord Westbury replied evenly.

  “It is a moot point.”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “Such is the nature of promises between strangers.”

  “That’s all your conditions?” Grace asked.

  Lord Westbury inclined his head.

  He was the best candidate. It was of no consequence that he was beautiful, or he wanted to maintain a façade to support his pride. He was her only chance.

  She rose and moved in front of Lord Westbury and held out her hand. When he stood, his proximity and height forced her to look up to him. Reaching out, he took her hand. She could feel his warmth through both of their gloves. His big hand covered hers.

  “Grace, this is rather hasty—” Maurice had risen, too, and was standing behind her like a father at a wedding.

  His gray eyes were steady on hers. “I swear I have disclosed to you all the debts I have incurred.”

  “I swear to stay with you for six weeks and maintain the façade that this is a real marriage.” Her heart sped up. Six weeks, then freedom.

  “I swear I am not a gambler.” He held her gaze, unsmiling.

  “I swear that in the unlikely event I give birth as a result of any misguided liaison instigated on my part, I would return and the progeny would live as yours.” Her heart thudded now.

  “I swear I will not claim the rights of a husband.”

  There was shocked silence and in the quiet, Grace thought that surely her pounding heart was audible. Fancifully, she imagined a line wrapped around their hands, tying them together.

  She withdrew her hand and clasped it behind her back, trying to settle herself. Her composure was reeling from the power of the words and the intensity of looking into Lord Westbury’s eyes. It felt as binding as any marriage ceremony. She took several deep breaths. The disturbance in her was just because he was how she would circumvent her father’s irrational wishes.

  This was just a deal.

  Lord Westbury gave Maurice his London address, and Caroline rang for a servant to fetch his hat and cane. Only when he was making his goodbyes did Grace come back into the conversation. She followed him out of the room and in the entrance hall. At the front door, he bowed low over her hand, holding it gently. It must have been the fresh air from the front door that sent sensation all the way up her arm.

  “You won’t regret this.” His voice was deep and sincere.

  There was meaning in his eyes as he pulled away that even a virgin like herself could guess. She squashed the part of her that was very interested, and ignored the flip of excitement in her stomach. “I should think you might, if you forget yourself.”

  His slight smile twisted. “There is no chance of that.”

  When the door closed and his footsteps had receded, Grace returned to the parlor to find Caroline and Maurice arguing. She sank into a chair.

  “This was a rash decision.” Maurice shook his head forebodingly.

  Caroline had given in to her natural restless state, pacing the room. “Lord Westbury is the only option. There isn’t time for dillydallying.”

  “He seems genuine enough.” Maurice sighed. “But you will be married to this man. I’ll do my best, but he could be worse than Lord Rayner.”

  “People say better the devil you know.” Grace thought about Lord Rayner and shuddered. “But this choice is between legal defense, six weeks with a man who might be an angel, then a life of freedom. Or my whole life with a man I know to be a devil. It’s obvious how that book balances. And every hour I am not married is another hour Henry is in the care of that…” She couldn’t even think of the right word.

  “Fiend,” Caroline spat.

  “I am not having my brother brought up by such a man, and Rayner will not give him up without a fight. And Alnott Stores…” She shook her head. “Under Lord Rayner’s care there would be nothing left for Henry when he comes to manage it himself.”

  “You could stay with us longer, find a peer you could care for,” Maurice replied.

  No. If she hesitated, if she worried about being loved, she would falter and Henry would suffer. The last time she’d placed too high a priority on her own happiness, others had been hurt. Irrevocably.

  “I can’t live on your charity.” Anna and Mary would need their monthly allowance soon. “And really, if I didn’t manage in all of last season to find a lord whom I liked, and who liked me, what chance is there now, at the tail end of this season?”

  “Lord Westbury is not a kindly old duke marrying to save his estate, who will conveniently die. He’s a man…” Maurice seemed at a loss to explain what exactly he was. “He’s not like Mr. Brooker.”

  Samuel Brooker was the past. Her future, and Henry’s, was at stake if she wavered now. “Lord Westbury’s just a procurer of my dowry so I can get back my little brother.”

  “Your best chance is if you’re considered safely and unobtrusively married, nothing unusual or out of place. Just go to church, sew a sampler, and try not to cause too much talk. Chancery will be particular about your character if they are to give you Henry’s guardianship.”

  She nodded. “No further scandal.”

  Chapter Three

  Everett left the Fishers’ house with a feeling of triumph that wasn’t diminished by the brisk summer breeze and wet pavement. It was a pity there was no hackney available, but with the bright clouds flying across a blue sky, it was a great day for a walk.

  A great day to celebrate success after a chase. He had saved the estate and the family name from ruin. And Grace. Grace, with her interesting hard edges and yellow-brown eyes that went from soft to sharp in the space of a blink. She was just the lady to be his countess.

  His foot slipped and a smell of horse excrement assaulted his nostrils. The earthy scent was a muddy battlefield, and in front of him were his soldiers in a melee of blood, smoke, and mud. Head spinning, he looked down at his boots, smeared with brown, which gradually became clear. Glistening, wet straw. For a second, he could see the soiled floor of a cowshed, the lowered head of a cow showing ulcers and sores around its mouth.

  He blinked hard and the cobbles came back into focus. He’d committed himself to an heiress who wanted to keep half of her dowry, when he needed all of it. In the focus of his negotiations, he’d supposed twenty-five would solve the immediate problem and the rest would sort itself out. Grace, she of the gold eyes, would want to stay if he persuaded her. Seduced her.

  With his feet in shit, he could suddenly see the extent of the…trouble he was in. Given her determination to leave, he ought to call it off. He straightened to turn back, but didn’t make a step.

  It would take weeks to be accepted by another heiress. The deterioration of the herds was quick, and without this marriage, there would be no money to compensate Bridge Farm for culling their animals. Men, women, and children under his protection would end up destitute. They would end up paupers in the workhouse, breaking rocks and hardly eating. How could he back down?

  It was true his parents had married for love and so had George, but he’d never aspired to be anything like his father. This was a financial transaction—twenty-five thousand, with the prospect of twenty-five more. The precipitating crisis left him with no choice.

  Yet, as well as this bleak necessity, he had been drawn into the idea of convincing Grace to stay at Larksview, and with him.

  The worst thing was, despite the horse excrement on his boots and the knot in his chest that said he had made a mistake, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

  …

  George was there when he returned to his room. Everett usually took the stairs two at a time at a running pace, but instead he walked, taking the time to
compose himself.

  “Have you been waiting long?” He threw off his jacket, then seated himself on the bed as he pulled at his cravat.

  George, who was sitting reading today’s paper, looked up. Everett would have liked to ignore his visit, but your own brother was not really a person one could cut, especially when he was sitting in the only chair.

  “I suppose not, compared to the importance of my errand.” George folded the newspaper, leaving a lumpy section in the middle, and discarded it onto the floor. “The gossip I received last night was of poor quality.”

  “Yes, I have discovered.” He began to untie the laces on his boots.

  “You know Miss Alnott is only offering half of her dowry, just twenty-five thousand.” George looked at him hard.

  “It’s too late.” He rose and put his boots outside the door to be cleaned.

  George exhaled audibly. “Tell me you haven’t done something irrevocable.”

  Everett didn’t reply and sat back down, pulling at his cuffs. It was too hot in this room.

  “Have you thought about this at all?” George asked.

  “I have thought a lot about Larksview.” He was on edge and it was laced through his voice. “It’s a business deal. In effect, she is hiring me to obtain her dowry for her.” Which was a better basis for a marriage than naive idealism. Romanticism had wrecked his parents’ marriage, and that wouldn’t happen to him.

  “Good God, Everett, have you lost your mind?”

  No, but maybe George had lost his memory. “I came for money. This is an expeditious way of obtaining it. If you want to know what losing your mind is, I suggest you consider my position. It is being left debt from your feckless elder brother’s gambling and your father’s irrational investments. It’s having every damn cow within a two-hundred-mile radius die and not being able to stop the disease, because you can’t pay the farmers to cull.

  “Grace is offering me a way out of this. Twenty-five thousand.” His chest heaved with the effort of containing yet more angry words. George didn’t deserve his wrath, any more than he himself deserved this mess he’d inherited.